


The Howling

by igiveup101



Series: Dog Ears Songfics [1]
Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Angst, Deathfic, Implied Future Character Death, M/M, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igiveup101/pseuds/igiveup101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of Mat Baynton's song, The Howling (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zXyqPFnxOg). Blenkinsop is badly injured by a shell bomb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Howling

Shells continue to fall down around them, their ears bursting with the sounds of explosions. The men are running, have been running, and their sides are splitting and their breathing forced and they're so tired-

Suddenly, one of the explosions is much, much louder than the others, and Blenkinsop finds himself being thrown into the air. There is a deafening cacophony of screams and thuds, and then silence.

The world around him is grey with dust, and there is nothing but empty space- but then there's more, there's screaming and sobbing and begging for help, there's blood and bodies and a burning in his torso.

He's shaking. His bones tremble and he can't stop them, and it must be the wind because it has to be, it has to be. He can't stop shaking and he can't feel anything in his legs but cold, and he's scared, and he doesn't know where Maltravers is but he wants him to be here.

Oh, God. He had been the one to suggest risking the run into No Man's Land. It's his fault these men are dead and dying, his men, men who trusted him, it's his fault.

Finally there's something good, there's Maltravers, looking down into his face. "Blenkinsop! Blenkinsop, thank God. Come on, come on, old bean, we have to get you help, now. You, you there- come, help me take Blenkinsop."

"There's no point, sir. Look at him, he's a mess, he'll never make it."

"Yes he will, goddammit! Hurry- are you coming or not?!" Blenkinsop almost can't help smiling, because Maltravers looks so scared for him, so desperate, but he's okay. Maltravers and the other soldier each grab an arm and, hoisting him until he's nearly standing, start to drag him along.

"Maltravers- Mal- you're not dead." Blenkinsop's words are slurred, and he has to force them out, and suddenly he's not happy. Suddenly the wound begins to burn, and he realizes that this must be the hundredth time Maltravers has had to save him. "Mal- I'm sorry- I'm sorry you have- to save me- again. I'm sorry- you can't just- run back- I'm sorry I'm so bad- at everything- I'm sorry- I'm sorry I'm going to die-"

"You're not going to die!" is the immediate reply. It's frustrated and desperate, and it's terrified. A moment passes where all he can hear is his own ragged breath, and his own head throbbing. "You're not going to die, Blenkinsop, because you can't. I'm going to get you back, they'll just stitch you right up, and you'll be okay again. You always are, aren't you? You have to be. We're going to get through this together, remember? You and me, together."

Blenkinsop nearly chokes on his own breath at that. He's stunned that Maltravers can keep expecting him to survive. Blenkinsop messes up everything he touches, it's just always been okay because it never meant anything and if it did Maltravers could fix it. This time he won't make it, he can't, and everything is already too heavy. He feels himself slumping further down. He won't be pleasantly surprised this time.

"Mal- Mal, just tell me- when we're there- I'll close my eyes- a bit." His eyelids begin to fall completely, and his body is now entirely hanging off of Maltravers and the other soldier. Maltravers is exhausted, but he picks up his pace, because he has to get help for Blenkinsop, he has to.

~

When Blenkinsop opens his eyes again, they're even heavier. He sees Maltravers arguing with a nurse, and struggles to make out part of the conversation.

"What do you mean you won't treat him? How can it be a waste if it's Blenkinsop?! He deserves nothing less than the best and I can't-" Maltravers had been screaming at the nurse, but his voice breaks into a quivering whisper. "I can't lose him. Please."

The nurse tries to mask her obvious sympathy, but is failing. "I'm sorry, sir. The wound already shows signs of infection, there's nothing we can do. If we give him morphine, we'll be throwing it away on a dead man."

He's dying. In an odd way, he knew it already, and he only regrets that he's leaving Maltravers behind, and that they won't be able to make it out and buy a nice house and live together, maybe with a dog or two, just the two of them. 

He knows he isn't the first person who won't get to build a home. He can hear the tales of men fallen, shot, stabbed, blown to bits, gassed, who had breathed their last in the room seeping in through the walls. They seem sad, and he wishes that the war could be over, that no one had to die, that everyone could go home, and snuggle up next to the fire with their own Maltravers. 

Maltravers, noticing that Blenkinsop has woken up, is at his bedside in moments.

"Kin- Blenkinsop, thank God, I thought- never mind what I thought. I'm just glad that you're- I want you to know that- I mean- you're a really spiffing fellow, Blenkinsop. Probably the most spiffing man I've ever met, and I wanted to say... I just..." His sentence trails off, and he looks at Blenkinsop for some sort of confirmation.

Blenkinsop can barely manage to keep himself awake, but, with a stupid grin still plastered on his face, he gets it. He can't imagine a world where it was any different. "I- I know- You're- quite- sp- spiff-" His words are cut off as he begins to cough suddenly and violently, a terrible, pathetic sound.

Panicked, Maltravers stands quickly. "Just a moment, I'll get a doctor." 

"N-No, don't- don't- let me- be- alone- please." Blenkinsop is begging now, desperate. His shallow breathing is speeding up, and the coughing starts up again.

Maltraver falls back into his seat. "Never."

"Th-thanks, old- bean..." His words come out almost silently, barely a whisper, and interspersed with hacking coughs. As he lays there, trembling, Maltravers's voice fills the silence of the enclosing darkness.

"I'll never leave you, and we can still make it. We'll get a nice house together back home, just us, no one else, except a dog that we could name George. We can sit by the fire with George and drink chocolate milk like we used to, and we'll sit in the trees like Austria and Germany, like best friends. I'll never leave you- so please, don't- don't leave me. I'll go with you, I swear, I'll follow you anywhere." With one last kiss on the forehead, Maltravers draws in a shaky breath. "I'll be right with you, I promise."


End file.
